Carousel Seas – eARC

by Sharon Lee

“So you did.” Peggy smiled slightly, reached to the right of the computer and pulled a sheet of paper toward her. “It’s on your head, then, foolish, foolish woman.”

  She began to write.

  * * * * *

  She had no cause to fault this small, sweet sea for its use of her, prior to her exchange with the Borgan. Indeed, its gentle generosity had been one of the first aspects of these waters that she had loved. From the first, this sea had granted her sustenance.

  Now, at the Borgan’s command…

  She paused, considering—and at last restructuring—that thought.

  The Borgan no more commanded the sea than the sea ruled the Borgan. Rather, they were equals, each complementing the other.

  The sea had accepted her from the first, as guest of the goblins. And while the goblins’ magic would have hidden her, somewhat, from the Borgan, much as they hid themselves, he must still have been aware of her presence in his waters. Knowing this, he had not sought her out, but left her to the sea.

  Because the sea liked her.

  His own stated preference was that she should return to Cheobaug, and in keeping with that, he had made no attempt to bind her, or to weave her into the life and the balance of the sea. He had, however, allowed the sea’s partiality to guide him, and was, perhaps, more generous than he might otherwise have been.

  He granted his support, welcoming her fully as a guest in his waters—and see now what a feast lay before her!

  Before, the waters had fed her; now they nourished her, and her strength increased with every wave. She lay back, and took what good things the sea brought to her; growing stronger, and making her plans.

  * * * * *

  It was six o’clock by the time I got back from making my rounds. I’d gone a little overboard on cat things, scoring several fleece throws on final clearance. I could put one on the couch, so she could be nearby when I did my mapwork and answered my infrequent emails. If she had a taste for that kind of thing. And I could put another one at the foot of the bed, which would be welcoming—more welcoming, so I hoped, than my pillow.

  I’d also gotten a scratching post and a couple of toys with feathers and bells, and a life-sized mouse that squeaked and flashed blue electronic eyes whenever it was struck.

  Hopefully, one or two of these offerings would find approval with…

  Going upstairs to the front door, I sighed.

  Gotta give the cat a call name, Kate. You can’t just keep calling her “she.”

  I juggled the grocery bag in one arm, got my key in the lock with the other, shoved the door open, stepped inside…

  …and stopped dead.

  Borgan and the cat were sitting on the couch—correction: Borgan was sitting on the couch, reading a book. The cat was sitting on Borgan. They both looked up and smiled rather sleepily at me.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” I said.

  “Just getting to know each other,” Borgan said. “Any more of those in the car?”

  “More than I want to think about.”

  I dumped the first bag on the kitchen table. Borgan put his book down, scooped the cat from his lap to the couch and stood.

  “Mind some help?” he asked.

  “Hell, no.”

  * * *

  The groceries had been stowed; I had shaken out and folded one of the fluffy fleece blankets into quarters, and placed it in the left corner of the sofa. This particular fluffy blanket featured white elephants in a field of blue—it looked like they were floating, not very comfortably, in a midafternoon sky.

  “I think I know why this one didn’t sell,” I said, turning to look at Borgan.

  He was leaning against the mantlepiece, his arms crossed over his chest, watching me with amusement, and maybe a touch of resignation.

  “Problem?”

  “Probably not. Why didn’t that one sell, then?”

  “The elephants are definitely disquieting. In fact, I don’t think I’m going out on a limb if I say that they look downright drunk. Who wants to snuggle up with a bunch of inebriated flying elephants on a cold winter’s night? And it’s definitely not the kind of thing you want to put in the baby’s crib.”

  “Never had much to do with elephants.”

  “Me neither—and I’m here to tell you that blanket isn’t making me eager to seek them out.”

  “So you’re hoping the cat won’t care?”

  “The cat is, of course, far more cosmopolitan and suave than either of us. I’m certain she’s dealt with situations far more awkward than flying drunken elephants with grace and aplomb.”

  “I’m guessing you’re right. She doesn’t startle easy, from my experience.”

  I eyed him.

  “Have you been mistreating my cat?” I asked, mock-stern.

  He grinned, and shook his head.

  “When I come in, she’d been sleeping in front of the French door. Opened her eyes as calm as you please, got up, stretched and gave me a couple long strops on the ankles. When I sat down to read, she jumped up to take part.”

  “That’s respectful. I did tell her that you were welcome here.”

  “So you did, and she’s got a wicked good memory.” He lifted an eyebrow and used his chin to point at me—no, past me.

  I looked over my shoulder. The cat was kneading the fluffy blanket; I could hear her purr from where I stood. I looked back to Borgan and gave him a grin and a thumb’s up.

  “Phase one of Project Make the Cat Comfy is a success.”

  “Looks that way. Got a name for her, yet?”

  “Not yet; I need to get to know her a little better.”

  He nodded. “While she’s whipping the elephants into shape, we could have a glass of wine, if you’d like, and adjourn to the summer parlor so you can tell me why you’re here.”

  “Shouldn’t I be here?” he asked.

  I moved to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator.

  “You’re welcome here,” I said, which was true. “It gave me a bit of a start to find you when I came in, but after I got over it, I—was pleased. Thank you.”

  “Nothing to thank,” he said, and I heard a clink as he got the wineglasses out of the cabinet.

  I worked the cork, and poured us each a glass of wine. The cat was still kneading, eyes slitted in pleasure, when we crossed the room to the summer parlor. I left the doors open, and settled onto the deck next to Borgan.

  “I should get the chairs out here, but it never occurs to me until I’m already sitting down.”

  “No sense getting up now,” he said comfortably. “’Specially not for a chair.”

  “I agree. So, why did you decide to exercise your welcome this afternoon?”

  He gave me a sideways glance, black eyes glinting.

  “As it happens, I have something I want to talk over with you, and I’d rather have it said on land.”

  I put my wineglass down, and stared at him.

  “Something you don’t want the sea to hear?”

  That was…disquieting.

  Correction: It was frightening.

  “Easy.” Borgan put his hand on my knee. “It’s not the sea I care about, but what’s in it.”

  “If that was supposed to reassure me—it didn’t.”

  Borgan sighed. “No, I can see that, all right. Think I’d know by this time to start the story at the beginning. Give me a minute to order myself.”

  I nodded, took up my glass and had a sip, looking out over the beach. There were a lot of walkers this evening, and a good number of people in their beach chairs, stubbornly determined to get as much summer sun as it was possible to get.

  “All right,” said Borgan, and I turned my attention to him.

  He smiled and extended a hand to touch my cheek gently. I shivered—pleasure mingled with yearning. The man knew his work; not only did I like his touch—I wanted it. Left to my own devices, I’d even seek it out.

  You’re in a sorry state, Kate, I told myself.

  “It turns o
ut I was wrong, back a couple weeks ago, when I told you the prisoners who’d lived to escape had likely gone home.”

  I frowned. “Wrong? But the land didn’t find any strangers.”

  “That’d be because one of them went into Saco Bay,” Borgan said.

  I stared at him, still not feeling soothed, the ronstibles very much in my thoughts.

  “When did that happen?”

  “I’m guessing it happened within hours of your Varothi’s little diversion—but that’s a guess. There was a lot of magic in the air that night, if you’ll recall it.”

  “I recall it, all right.”

  “After…I had…an itch, call it, like there was something out of harmony, but I couldn’t put my finger on it ’til today.”

  Fourteen days and he hadn’t been able to put his finger on something that was out of harmony in the sea he guarded? I shivered, and this time it wasn’t pleasure.

  “How could you not know?” It was a reasonable question, but I could’ve done a lot better in the phrasing department.

  “Sorry,” I said, extending a hand. Borgan took it between both of his and smiled at me.

  “I’m thinking you already know the answer—you told me yourself, back when you first come home, that there’re bits of land, here and around, that you couldn’t hear—just static, I think it was.”

  I nodded, and waved my free hand in the general direction of the living room, meaning to include the maps and guidebooks.

  “Right,” Borgan said. “So, it won’t surprise you to hear that the sea holds places that are…not dead, necessarily, but not easy to pick up, either.”

  “The ronstibles’ home is one of those places, isn’t it? That was why Nerazi had to tell you they’d moved back.”

  “That’s right.”

  “So the prisoner—ex-prisoner—went to the ronstibles?”

  “Might’ve. There’s other places, but if the ronstibles found her, they might’ve seen a chance to make mischief. They’re as alert to changes in the sea as I am, and they don’t have the High Magic to confuse them.”

  I thought about how it might’ve happened—but really, it was easy. The prisoner wouldn’t have had much jikinap, just whatever she could snatch out of the confusion of energies during the great escape. She’d’ve been disoriented, and she wouldn’t have had access to her memories, but you don’t need memories to know enough to run away from a firefight.

  So she ran—and found further progress blocked by the Atlantic Ocean. Hell, if she was from Cheobaug, which I was willing to bet she was, then her instincts might’ve sent her to the sea. Whereupon, she’d do the only sensible thing open to her—she’d wade into the nice water, for safety. The ronstibles, sensing a disturbance in the force—or, at least, in the balance of the sea—would surface to see what was up…and find a confused and amnesiac stranger, with the taint of jikinap on her, whom they would have had no trouble seeing as a weapon.

  “So…what changed?” I asked Borgan.

  “She came to me, today when I was fishing, and let herself be known.”

  “Two weeks after the fact?”

  “A bit long for politeness, I’ll grant. She made a proper manifestation, but she had to feed on a shark, to have enough power for it. That says to me that she went into the ocean weak, and—with or without the ronstibles in it—she’s been using the time since to recuperate.”

  “So you talked to her? What’s her name?”

  Borgan snorted lightly.

  “Two minds with one thought, there. I tried to fish it outta her, Kate, but she wasn’t so weak as that.”

  “What did she want, then?”

  “Well, that’s a puzzle. As I get it from the sea, she wanted to look at me—and she did that for a time, from the waters. Maybe I looked reassuring, or maybe she remembered her manners—in either case, she came up on the deck…”

  “After draining a shark,” I put in.

  He waggled his fingers.

  “I won’t say I liked it, but I will say that she didn’t take all she could’ve. I asked her why not, and her reason was it would be bad manners to start killing the sea’s creatures. We mended the shark, after she’d gone, so all’s well.”

  We being himself and the sea together. I nodded.

  “So, she came up on deck, dressed to impress—pretty silk robes all flowing like water, her hair done up like a crown. Hinted that a good time could be had, if I wanted it.”

  I blinked.

  “Sounds like she didn’t waste any time.” That sounded bitchy, so I added, “What did you do?” Which didn’t make it any better.

  Borgan laughed softly.

  “What I did was told her a working boat’s no place for silks. She changed ’em for something more reasonable, then; told me it was what she’d worn when she’d fished her father’s boat.” He paused, as if considering. “That was true.”

  “After we got the wardrobe fixed, I told her to go home. She asked for a few days’ grace, pretty and polite as you’d please, so she could husband her strength. Claims to have enemies at home. That was true, too.”

  He paused for a leisurely sip of wine.

  “What did you do?”

  Obviously, he hadn’t asked the Gatekeeper—that was me—to open the World Gate, though I wasn’t positively certain that he needed me for that. Still, if he’d opened it, I’d’ve heard it. Alternatively, he could’ve sung her back to Cheobaug, and I’d never know anything about it.

  “I gave her twenty days and the sea’s fullness,” he said slowly. “The sea…likes her, and it was plain she likes the sea.”

  “There’s a risk,” I pointed out. “If she’s working for, or with, the ronstibles.”

  “Sure, there’s a risk,” he agreed placidly. “Nothing’s risk-free.”

  He lifted his glass again, and drank off what was left, his eyes on the beach. Or the sea.

  I finished my wine, studying his profile. I wasn’t entirely comfortable with the idea that there was a woman of Cheobaug in the waters of Saco Bay. On the other hand, I couldn’t fault Borgan’s decision. Whatever quarrel was waiting for her at home in Cheobaug, we—meaning me, Borgan and the whole of the Changing Land—didn’t have any skin in the game. And while we’d like to keep it that way, there wasn’t any percentage in forcing her to go home while she was too weak to cope.

  “So,” I said softly, “was that what you didn’t want the sea to hear?”

  The edge of his mouth curved slightly upward.

  “It wasn’t the sea I cared about. I didn’t want her to hear me tell you.” He paused, head tipped slightly to one side for a moment before he turned his head and looked directly into my eyes.

  “I didn’t want her to know about you.” His smile grew somewhat fuller. “Turns out, there’s risks I’m not willing to take.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Sunday, July 9

  Low Tide 4:06 A.M. EDT

  Sunrise 5:09 A.M.

  The Garden Cafe was standing room only. Not only was every member of Archers Beach Twelve to Twelve present, it looked like every nonmember store owner was there, too.

  I poured myself a cup of coffee from the pot on the counter, and looked around. Brand caught my eye from his lean against the wall, and shifted over enough so that I could have leaning room, too. I gave him a nod and settled in.

  “Where’d all these people come from?” I muttered.

  “Apparently Joan called Mrs. Kristanos, and Mrs. Kristanos got her kids busy working a phone tree, calling every business in town, and anybody else they could reach.” He paused to sip, gingerly, from his cup. “That guy there, in the white T-shirt? He’s one of the owners of the ’change. The woman next to him is the curator of the History House.”

  “Hmm. Who’s the guy in the suit, talking to Michelle and looking uncomfortable?”

  “Credit union manager.”

  “Mr. Poirier coming?”

  “Now, I wondered that, too. Seems like it’s time to bring him in, but if h
e’s coming, he’s late.”

  Right on cue, came Jess Robald’s voice, bold enough to override every other voice in the room.

  “Okay, everybody!” She was standing as near to the center of the room as possible, holding her arms over her head, so we could all get a fix on her.

  “Thank you all for comin’. I know it’s an early hour after a late night, so I’m gonna make this short as I can. There’s a lot of stuff, and I’m asking you to save any questions ’til I’m finished laying it out, all right?”

  “We’re all ears,” Brand said from beside me. “Go for it, Jess!”

  The land murmured, and I looked away from Jess, just as the door to the restaurant opened and a sturdy woman in jeans and T-shirt entered. She closed the door quietly behind her, turned—and met my eyes across the room. We exchanged a cordial nod, and I gave my attention to Jess, as Felsic drifted forward to stand at the edge of the crowd, nudging the gimme hat up an inch or two with a forefinger.

  “For those who are comin’ in late, this is what’s going on that’s got the rest of us all scrambled around,” Jess said. She then gave an admirably succinct description of the situation, and outlined the most popular proposed solutions.

  “Now, I’ve got some more information that has a bearing. First, the spot where the Loon used to be, right across from Ahzie’s store—that deal went through. The new owners’ll be siting condos on it, but what they’re waiting for is all the licenses and permits and such that they need from the State before they can start building. That’s the first thing.

  “Second thing is that Henry’s talked to a bunch of people. He found out that the asking price for the park land is two million five.”

  There was a stir and a mutter at that. Jess nodded, but raised her hand.

  “Folks? We’re short on time, so let me just go on, okay? Yeah, it’s a lot of money, but we’ve got a couple ideas about that, if you’ll hear me out.”

  The muttering subsided.

  “All right, then. Henry…Henry’s been doing a lot of work on this. Henry talked to Mr. Poirier at the Chamber, and he’s willing—the Chamber’s willing—to be part of the committee working on putting together a leaseback deal with the town. Mr. Poirier’s going to be personally involved in putting the proposal together; he doesn’t want there to be any loose ends when we take it to the town manager.